The Need To Act
by Missmishka
Summary: Men like Daryl aren't motivated by flowers and romance. Sometimes action is needed. Intended as just a one-shot set in 2x03 "Save the Last One" it is now reactivated by events in 3x06 "Hounded." Rated for Daryl-esque language. Part 3/3 uploaded. Fic back to COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

I'm watching the New Year's Eve Marathon and I think "Save the Last One" is really one of my favorite episodes. I caught something in the scene this time when Daryl got up to go looking and it reminded me that it's not a flowers and chocolate kind of romance our beloved characters have. Maybe it didn't even start as a romance…

**_The Need To Act, by MissMishka_**

DISCLAIMER: The usual warnings, I claim no ownership of these characters, they are simply borrowed with love and adoration from the original creators to have their stories embellished on a little more than the show may do. Not for any profit.

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><p>Daryl was just trying to sleep.<p>

He didn't think it such a bad thing to want or expect after the exertions of the day, but damned if these women would allow him a moment's peace.

To the foot of him, Carol lay sobbing quietly on the only real bed in the camper. He got her grief. Was glad of it, seeing as he'd like to think it still natural for a mother to worry for her lost child. The way she tried to stifle the tears twisted him up inside with memories best left pushed down deep.

To the head of him, Andrea sat at the kitchen table, methodically loading bullets into a clip. She gave no response to the glare he shot her way, trying to get her to do what women were supposed to and comfort Carol, but the blonde just clicked another round into the chamber.

Huffing up at the ceiling, he gave up any hope of rest and sat up on the floor. His eyes went helplessly to the bed and he couldn't think of a damned thing to do to help her find peace enough to sleep.

No words would have comforted him had anyone even tried to give them when he realized his brother was gone and so he had none to extend to her. He stunk to high heaven from a combined lack of water, time and energy to bathe properly, so he couldn't see her welcoming a hug any more than he felt comfortable making such a move. The years that had passed since anyone laid a kind hand on him were so many that he couldn't even think to try patting her back or rubbing her shoulder as he'd seen the others do most of the day.

Action was all he knew and he got to his feet with the intent of just doing _something_ other than lying there like a damned pussy.

Her sniffles paused at his movement, but he focused on Andrea, asking her to relinquish his clip. Not because he had any intention of using anything besides his bow if action was called for, but because it just didn't seem right how this one was getting about guns.

Feeling the other pair of eyes upon his back, he quietly announced his still forming intentions to go out looking for the girl. He looked over his shoulder at her, felt her hope and gratitude like a kick in the teeth and made a decision.

The choice had been presented without any real fuss to draw attention to it.

He'd seen hints of it in camp before her husband died. That quiet suffering of a battered woman for some way out to find her because she'd given up hope or just been too scared to look for it.

Carol Peletier needed a helping hand.

A hero.

Daryl didn't imagine himself to be anyone's ideal of the latter, but he could manage the former. He had two good, relatively strong hands. While they might not be suited to cuddling her close and wiping away those tears, they were damned good at snapping the necks of zombies that might be threatening her child.

He could protect her.

Find that little girl and watch over her too.

Despite how small their group was, it didn't really _include_ everyone and they both seemed to have fallen on the outskirts.

He was used to the outside and didn't expect to be anywhere else in gatherings big or small, but this woman needed to be part of something more than herself. She was a caregiver and nurturer, needing something to keep her hands busy so her mind didn't wander to darker places. He knew that same kind of itch, but always turned to violence to scratch it.

With the need for some of that violence in mind, he gave her a brief nod before heading out. Silently promising to do his best until her daughter was brought back to her and hoping he'd be enough of a purpose to keep her going in the meantime.


	2. Chapter 2

AUTHOR'S NOTES(Scroll down to the break line to the fic to start): Here I thought this was a complete work! After the epic Caryl moment we had in 3x06 "Hounded," though, my thoughts immediately came back to this piece because I feel there to be a similarity in Daryl's reactions in this scene and in 2x03 "Save the Last One" and FrozenSoldier left me this wonderful review for the first chapter and I had to break my self-made rule of "no S3 based/inspired TWD fics until I have completed at least ONE of my existing works in progress." And in classic me style, I not only dive into a S3 episodic idea but I take a complete fic and change it to an incomplete status to get the idea out. No YAY me. Working fast and furious, though, on what I hope will be the 3 and complete installment of this resurrection.

Also, I caught myself as I was writing this going between past and present tense with a blatant disregard for whichever tense the piece is actually intended to be (I've settled on present tense with some past tense references) but I just let it the muses run their course without correcting all the instances because there are (admittedly) *several* instances. I need to just get this out and complete and then I can go back through and tweak the grammar so please bear with me and try to overlook some of that for the general 'plot' of the piece and feel free to PM me any parts that are just too much for you to bear without immediate correction. *Update* It's 4am and I'm still up and I went back through for some edits but I did them all with sleep deprivation so I may have made things worse

Also, also; I could not for the life of me find any actual details on Carol's knife, so I have decided that it's a Gerber Prodigy just based on the fact that TWD signed on with Gerber to use an assortment of their knives on the show as of S2 and it's the model that most closely resembles Carol's knife even though I'm certain that it isn't Carol's knife because there are slight differences in the grip and blade, but until I can get an actual ID on the weapon; it's a Prodigy. There is also nothing that I could find that gave an actual time for Carol's separation from the group which is typical because both the show and comics love making it seem only a day has passed when, oh, wait, we're in a whole new season in every sense of the word. So I clock it about 5 days; which feels to me both too long and too short since I have no personal experience with dehydrating, but when I originally had it at 3 days it just didn't seem right with the dehydration symptoms she displayed and when I pushed it out to 7 I started thinking how she had been 100% hydrated, rested and fed before getting pinned down so I didn't think she'd hold up well if it hit the week or longer mark. If I have any medical savvy readers, please let me know your input on this as to how long she was likely alone. And I don't know how widespread it is, but I consider the baby to be named L.A. in this as per Daryl's name for the baby and the immediate abbreviation that appeared in an overwhelming number of posts during my tumblr liveblogging. Not sure the baby has an official name yet per the show's producers, but she'll forever be L.A. to me; not Judith.

On with the read!

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><p>The knife is heavy and familiar in his hand.<p>

Too familiar.

Daryl knows the seven ounce weight, the curve of the grip and the fine edge of the five inch stainless steel blade. He knows about the slight nick at the tip of that blade because he'd been the one wielding the weapon when he'd driven it so hard through a zombie's skull that it had gone out the back and scraped along a concrete wall; the wall had chipped the metal as punishment for the jab.

The knife is a Gerber Prodigy and he had had it since finding it on a National Guardsmen shortly after martial law was declared and every hint of civilized behavior was lost in the maddening fear of the disease.

He'd given it to Carol the night that the group lost the farm, wanting her to have the means of self-protection so she wouldn't do a fool's thing like look to him for saving.

_Fat lot of good any of that had done._

He had her scarf and, now, has the knife back; but it had stopped being his the moment she's accepted it from him. If his stabs at the prison floor didn't manage to break the blade despite his efforts, he'd likely tuck the weapon away somewhere where it could never fail another member of the group while staying with him as one of few physical remains of Carol Peletier. He hadn't given up on finding her remains, just couldn't bring himself to actively seek them out. Not finding her was likely better than having to put an arrow through her skull or finding whatever bits of her that the Walkers had opted not to devour.

The one that had found Lori had been a greedy sumbitch; leaving only a spent bullet casing, blood smears and a few strands of hair for Rick to grieve over while the rest of them marked an empty grave.

Two empty graves, given the lack of Carol's remains.

It'd seemed pointless for Glenn to have the three plots dug, but it'd kept the inmates occupied while the group tried to deal with their losses.

Way he saw it, there is no dealing with what'd happened.

Daryl, though, always just picked up and carried on because the alternative was to stop and become a free meal to the zombies.

Sometimes the weight is heavier to move under than others.

This didn't hit him like Lori's death had hit Rick; for obvious reasons, but it was a blow that still had Daryl wincing at the most unlikely of times.

Simple things like meals were hard because he kept waiting to eat; expecting Carol to be there with his food and that expression on her face. He'd never seen an expression like that before, not even from his own mother. Carol always brought him his food with a fond curl to her lips, a twinkle in her blue eyes and a waiting softness that he'd always shied away from.

_Carol __**had**__ always_, he stabs the knife viciously into the floor again as he corrects himself.

The tip jams in a crack in the floor and he leaves it there while he drops is head in his hands and presses hard against his closed eyes in hopes of getting her memory out of his mind.

It has the opposite effect as the darkness of his closed eyelids lets loose a flood of images from their time together; all the way back to his joining the group outside Atlanta. He remembers every bruise he'd seen left on her and Sophia by that asshat, Ed; every kind gesture that she had made toward him despite Merle's mockery and Ed's blustering. He remembers the beginning of her transition from that battered soul to the woman he'd lost days ago; when she asked for the pickaxe and took it from Daryl to pulverize her abusive husband's head to insure his body was dead dead dead. He remembers her voice; her tears; her smiles; her at first hesitant then increasingly casual touches; her rare laugh; her early bumbles in learning how to shoot guns and those few times that she had talked him in to showing her how to use his Scout.

He remembers the night that they got to the prison and the joking offer that she had made and he regrets scoffing it aside.

It _had been_ a romantic moment; even a hick like him had known it but he'd botched it as always. She'd been something in the moonlight, though, as she seemed to shine with a rare relief at the group having found space with fencing to keep the Walkers at bay. She'd thrown it out like a joke; evidently expecting him to take it as one.

_Would anything have been any different if he'd fallen toward her flame that night and they had, at the very least, made out? _

_Would it have changed any damned thing other than leaving him haunted by the added memories of how soft her softness skin was; how her arousal smelt; how her lips tasted and how her body clenched around his?_

It might have made this worse for him, but part of him points out that it could have made it better for Carol. She was – had been – a surprisingly physical person; she'd reached out to touch all of them in the groups as she had grown used to them being safe harbors in her life. That night she had reached out to him wanting, perhaps even needing, more than a mere caress and he'd rejected the notion.

He doesn't imagine himself to be any good in the sack, but she'd have appreciated his efforts. She would have encouraged whatever he tried and guided him if he started to fumble because that who Carol was. All that would have mattered to her is that they were together and, pass or fail, they'd have laughed about it afterward.

He could have tried to give her a memory of pleasure stolen in all this shit but he hadn't. He hadn't given her anything of worth to take with her when she died and this stupid fucking knife that he _had _given to her hadn't done a damned bit of the good that it should have to save her.

He stabs the knife into the wall behind him as he imagines Merle's ghost hovering over him with taunts of how Daryl has failed.

The door down the hall keeps bumping against the corpse outside of it and he blames his aggravation at that repetitive noise to be what finally spurs him to his feet; blame that and not the hollow ache in his chest as being the impetus to stop wallowing and get back to work.

He refuses to acknowledge that fear that accompanies the certainty within him that Carol's zombie is likely pushing against that door trying to get out at him 'cause of the noise he's made. He spins away from that cell; punches the walls and throws a tantrum that only serves to bring back the memory of him throwing a saddle at Carol in Hershel's stable and saying things to her that he still wished he could unsay.

He puts his forehead briefly against the wall and replays all the times he's made her flinch away from him through his words or the threat of violence. He'd come closer to hitting her than he cares to think about and still she'd been one of his best friends, staunchest allies and, if he'd have allowed it, she would have been his lover.

He forces all of that down and away; breathing deep and fast to brace mentally for what would have to be done. He stomps to the corpse and drags it out of the way to yank the door open. His body braces for the attack of what lurked inside, knife poised to plunge into a Walker's brain and a determination not to pull the punch this time commanding him onward.

There is no threat, though, that shambles out of the darkness.

His eyes stare into a pitch black corner in place of where Carol should have stood. His gaze drops immediately to the ground and he sees her body slumped against the wall.

He hesitates.

He knows not to, but something in him has always stuttered around her in one way or another. In his pause she moves, barely, and then he finds her blue eyes sparkling up at him from the filth on her haggard face and he nearly drops the knife in his disbelief.

Life shines in her gaze, not the milky, unseeing hunger that blanks out the stares of the undead. Her lips move over words he can't even hear and her chest lifts on a sudden breath and he couldn't believe his eyes.

He squats down, keeping the knife ready in his right fist as his left hand reaches toward the face that she tips weakly in his direction. His fingers grasp her chin; taking immediate note of the underlying warmth to her flesh; before he quickly finds her pulse. It beats rapidly against his fingertips but he has to press hard to feel the weak pumping of blood through her veins.

The signs of dehydration are glaring and he doesn't want to think about the damage that may have been done to her for having gone five days without food or water. People have gone longer in the past and survived, but they'd then had immediate access to hospitals to restore their health.

The group only has Hershel.

Bearing that in mind, Daryl moves quickly to tuck the knife into the back of his pants before scooping her up into his arms. She's too weak to fuss at him and he somehow doubts she would have bothered as she drops her head to his shoulder and mouths soundless words against his arm. He doesn't react to the pleasant sensation of the brush of her chapped lips over his skin any more than he shows a reaction to the very unpleasant sent of her having stewed in her own juices for days in that room.

He moves quickly through the halls to get back to the cell block where there would be food and water and help. Her body is next to nothing in his arms; so light compared to how a full-grown woman should feel and he entertains himself with the idea of him making her eat for a change. Her bones are protruding against her thinned skin and they dig sharply into his body as he cradles her higher against his chest so that he can move faster.

"Hershel," he hollers out as soon as he's within earshot of their quarters.

No one yells back and no one appears in response to the cry.

"Hershel!"

When he finally breaks out into the open area that they've set up for group gathering he finds it completely empty.

Fear kicks like a mule in his gut, but he sees no blood; hears no battle and forces his focus to stay on the immediate issue of helping Carol.

He carries her quickly to the cell that she and Lori had been sharing and he placed gently on the bottom bunk with only a passing thought to the woman that had claimed that bed due to the advanced stage of her pregnancy. They had their Lil Asskicker to carry on Lori's legacy as best as any could in this world and somehow they still had Carol, so Daryl would only give losses a passing thought in that moment.

His cast his eyes quickly around the sparse quarters until his gaze latched onto the bottle of water sitting on the sink against the back wall. He lunged for the bottle and twists the cap off as he takes to his knees beside the bed to position Carol in a position that elevated her torso enough for him to tip liquid past her parched lips. Her eyes had drifted closed at some point and the first bit of water trickles down her chin as she seems too weak to even swallow.

"Come on now," he hisses, stopping the flow of water long enough to nudge her with the bottle until her eyes pop back again. "Drink."

She looks at him with that sparkle again; her expression awed and disbelieving and he wasn't letting himself define any more of those possible emotions she had going on in her gaze. Her lips part and he tips the bottle again to pour in more water.

_Too much, apparently._

She sputters under the spill of liquid into her mouth and he pulls his hand back like it'd hurt her. He thrusts his right arm under her back and draws her up straighter while smacking her back until she stops making those choking noises like he'd been drowning her.

Her arm moves to drape weakly over his shoulders and cling when he tries to ease her back and her first audible word rang loudly in his ears even though it was little more than a fractured whisper.

"Daryl."


	3. Chapter 3

Carol sips at the water like some sickeningly sweet little baby animal. Daryl focuses on that fact and the way he wants to laugh at the imagery as he keeps the bottle of water tipped against her barely moving lips.

The pace is agonizingly slow and his muscles twitch with the want to do more while his mind keeps making lists of everything that needs to be done. The arm he is keeping beneath her shoulders is steady as can be, though, and his hand keeps the bottle tilted at just the right angle for a smooth flow of water into her mouth.

If he could have, he'd have set up a saline drip to do this part of the work, but seeing as Carl hadn't pulled any bags of saline out of his bag of tricks after raiding the infirmary on his own Daryl didn't see any alternative to his present position.

The bottle eventually empties and he takes it carefully away from her lips. He knows it's going to take a lot more than one eight ounce bottle to replenish her lost supply of fluids, but he doesn't immediately search out more because he doubts there's more in the cell and leaving her didn't seem ideal at the moment. Her arm flexes around against the back of his neck as if sensing his line of thought and tightening her hold to agree he should stay.

He finds his hand brushing at the grime on her face and thinking a bath is just as much a priority as more water. She turns into the touch; the move once again emphasizing her fragility. His fingers drift again to her pulse, needing the proof again of it beating under her skin. It was there, still weak and not much slower than earlier. Even feeling it and having her in his arms and seeing her there, he didn't think he could really believe any of this until he had a witness.

The continuing absence of the others has him wondering if this could be his version of the phone call Hershel told them that Rick had gotten.

He allows them a few minutes before carefully extracting himself from her weak embrace. Any protest she makes is too faint to be heard so he ignores it without a qualm and pushes to his feet to go retrieve more water. He goes straight for a tray of bottles and collects it along with a gallon jug of water for washing her up even if that particular task had to wait. He carries the lot back to the cell with a passing glance at food which he puts off for later as solids are likely to rank pretty low on her list of needs.

She's lying unusually still on the bed; the breaths moving her chest the only indication that she hasn't slipped away into death. Her left arm has fallen off the mattress to dangle limply toward the floor. He puts the water collection down then takes hold of her wrist to subtly take her pulse while gently returning the slack limb to a more comfortable position at her side on the bed.

This time he grabs a bottle of water and climbs up onto the bed to position himself as a prop behind her as he rouses her enough to coax more liquid into her parched mouth. Her hand is too weak to even get a good grip on his forearm so he doesn't even think about asking her to hold the bottle herself. He'll do that when she can hold her own eyes open for more than five minutes at a stretch.

She's barely gotten a start on the second bottle when his spidey sense kicks in to warn him that something has happened.

A feeble groan escapes Carol and she spits out an excess of water when his hand jerks causing more water to spill into her mouth than he intended. He doesn't apologize as he hears familiar voices coming in fast and rising in a volume that could only mean bad news. He recaps the bottle and moves her off him as gently as possible. His attention is already focusing on the halls outside the cell as he eases her back against the pillows, tucks the water bottle against her side and instructs her to drink some if she could manage.

He makes no promises to be right back.

He shrugs off the strap and brings his crossbow around to check the bolt loaded in it before he moves out into the open to investigate; hands ready, willing and able to lift, aim then fire that arrow if needed.

He finds Rick looking noticeably cleaner and steady while the others clamber around the stranger in their midst.

Even without the question rising in volume and anxiety from Beth, Daryl is quick to put the pieces in place. First, there's a carrying basket from some store on the table and it's filled with baby formula mix. Second, Glenn and Maggie had gone on a supply run to find formula and supplies. Finally, the supplies are here; Glenn and Maggie are not.

The conclusion can only be one of two things; the couple gave these items to the stranger to bring in or this stranger had taken them.

He braces the crossbow against his shoulder and stares down the sight aimed at the woman as he moves in to be brought up to speed.

"Rick?"

He says nothing more now needs to as soon as the deputy realizes Daryl has moved to stand at his back.

"This woman asks for asylum. She came from town. Saw Glenn and Maggie get taken; heard them talking about here and the baby so she came looking for us," Rick rattles off the bare bones quickly and Daryl knows he's just been made as current on the situation as possible.

The woman stares defiantly back at him as he focuses his attention on her and he'll be surprised if they get much information out of her beyond what they already seem to have been given. Movement to their right catches both their attention causing Daryl and the stranger to break off their budding staring contest to look toward the source of motion.

Daryl blinks then snorts an unbidden laugh at the sight of Carl, giddy for a change as the kid he's supposed to be, playing with a sword.

The woman does not appear amused to see her weapon given such a treatment.

"Yours?" he asks with a glance from her to the weapon then back for her answer.

A quick jerk of her head in a downward motion then lifted back to stare him in the eye is what he supposes passes for a nod to the affirmative from her.

"Beth, I want you to take Carl and L.A. to Carol's cell and I want you to stay there until one of us comes to get you," he orders, edging past Rick and making note to thank the man later for his stepping aside. "I'd appreciate it if you'd join them, Hershel."

"My Maggie," the veterinarian begins firmly, "is apparently in danger and this woman claims to know something about it. I will not leave this spot until I have heard her out."

"Carol's alive," he announces with a quick glance to meet the old man's eye. "Found her in the tombs. Been hiding from the Walkers in a dark room; no food, no water. She's in a bad state. Needs a doctor."

Everyone looks at him at that announcement, but Hershel doesn't budge.

"Beth, do as Daryl said. Get the baby settled safely and check on Carol. Get as much water her in her as possible. If she looks worse than you think you can manage, come get me."

"But Maggie-" the girl begins to protest her father's instruction.

"Maggie would be thankful for the miracle of Carol having survived this long alone and she would want you to do everything you can to prevent us losing another member of this family," Hershel keeps his tone firm and his gaze resolute.

Carl, for a change, doesn't protest to being sent away while the grown-ups talked; the kid's already sheathed the sword and moved to stand guard outside Carol's cell. A brief meeting of their gazes tells Daryl that Carl is ready to guard both sides of that doorway against any threat the might try getting to Carol and any threat that Carol would pose to the group if she dies. Daryl accepts that stance with a nod of agreement and tries not flinch at a kid so young handling such a daunting task.

He returns his attention to the unfolding scene and finds Rick settling himself down into a chair facing the woman.

"Tell me again how you're here and they aren't."

"I went into the town to look for supplies. A young man and woman came out of the store so I hid. They spoke of baby formula and a prison. I was about to approach them when a man beat me to it. He came at them from the other direction and I remained hidden from their sight. The young man knew him; they spoke. The conversation was not to the man's liking so he grabbed the girl and forced them to go with him. I moved in, collected the supplies I needed and would have moved on except they'd left the formula and mentioned a baby. I felt it best to bring the items here," she recounts it quickly; not like a rehearsed speech to be weary of just in a way that indicated she preferred not to waste words.

Daryl finally lowers the bow to point safely at the ground.

"Why didn't you approach them along with this man?" he asks.

"Because _I_ know that man. I did not know that he would threaten your people; he knew the boy, I could no longer trust that the couple was safe."

"The _boy_ is Glenn and the girl is Maggie and if you know the man who took them, do you know _where_ he took them?" Rick asks, leaning forward as much as he could without invading her personal space zone.

"It is not a place that I recommend you visit," her words are firm, her posture rigid with the hint of fear.

"So we're to just leave our people there? Who the hell are you to recommend anything to us and who the hell took them?"

Daryl does not respect her personal space and he moves to stand over her with his questions.

"My name is Michonne and the man has a brother among your group. The man is named Merle and he was known by your Glenn and Andrea both which tells me that you're the group she left Atlanta with. That means that you're the ones that left her alone to run for her life from the remains of an undead herd, so I assume you know when to cut your losses and I advise you to consider Glenn and Maggie lost to the Governor."

Her words stagger him.

"Did you say Merle?" he demands as Rick jumps to his feet to stand beside Daryl and demand confirmation of Andrea's name.

"I can see the resemblance," her dark eyes condemn him along with the words, but Daryl doesn't care.

"I lost my brother in Atlanta," he snaps in her face, breathing harsh and feeling the flush of anger reddening his cheeks.

"No. Your brother got lost in Atlanta and found his way to the Governor's group. Your brother is not a good man, but the Governor is worse."

"You're telling us that you have met Andrea and Merle and that they are both alive?"

Rick's hand is steadying on Daryl's shoulder even as it pulls him back away from the woman who could only be selling them snake oils; no matter the impossibility of how she could have known to weave those particular names into her fantasy. As the deputy had moments before, Daryl steps aside for Rick to resume charge of the situation.

They couldn't have survived.

Daryl had carried Merle's severed hand for days while searching Atlanta for his brother and T-Dog had seen Andrea go down at the farm; they were dead and gone; nothing more than ghosts to haunt his memories. If there had been any chance of Andrea surviving that then Theodore would have agreed with Daryl and gone back to search for her.

They hadn't left anyone behind.

Daryl wouldn't have.

His gaze tracks slowly across the floor to Carl standing outside Carol's bunk and that is proof of the lies that he's telling himself.

They'd assumed _her _dead and she lived.

Andrea assumed yet apparently alive.

And Merle. His brother had lost a hand, but somehow kept his life and Daryl reminds himself that hands aren't needed when survival often went to the bugs that just kept kicking.

"We go for them now," he speaks the words before consciously thinking them.

"We get them back," Rick seconds.

Michonne stares up at them from her seated position; dark gaze bouncing from one man to the other.

"If it were that easy, I would have brought them to you with the formula to guarantee myself shelter here. Believe me when I say that it is _not_ that easy."

"Doesn't matter," Daryl pushes to his feet and begins to pace with increasing anger. "We bring them all here; Andrea, Glenn, Maggie and Merle. We bring them back and we never let another member of this go. Even if it means having to put a bullet in their brains at the end, we still damned well look until they are found dead or alive. _This_ doesn't happen again. Not after what we've been through. We don't dig graves without bodies to put in them."

"As much as I support the plan to get my daughter back, I believe we should hear this woman out," Hershel interrupts, hobbling to sit across the table from Michonne. "Tell me about this place where they have taken my Maggie."

While she talks, Daryl paces; his steps carrying him further from the discussion and closer to Carol's cell until he gives up the pretense of listening and just goes to stand beside Carl.

"Woman seems safe enough," he informs the kid. "Stash her toy somewhere safe then you can join the others."

Carl flicks a glance past Daryl to study 'the others' who consists of the boy's father, the newest stranger in their midst, Hershel, Axel and Oscar. There seemed to be so few of them left yet if this woman is to be believed, they had more than they had hoped for in months.

"I'll go put this away."

"Watch your back, kid," he adds to his instruction before Carl sets off to complete his chore.

Beth looks up from the task of getting Carol to sip water when Daryl edges into the room to glance at the bed. The girl doesn't say anything as she returns her attention to the chore.

Carol's eyes lift to meet his and he wonders how much she's heard and how much he'll still have to explain once she recovers; if she recovers and he's there to fill her in. He sees the worry in her expression as well as a faint gleam of hope that she seems t squash out with the blink of her eyes.

He wants to tell her that this isn't fruitless searching as they'd done for Sophia, but it felt too soon for such words. There will never be a time when memories of that little girl didn't cut, even if Daryl somehow lives to see L.A. grow to that same age, Sophia's loss won't have been forgotten. He says nothing, though, to Carol as he moves into the room to collect the Little Asskicker as she starts to fuss for attention.

For the baby, he coos and to the baby he speaks; expressing his intent to go outside the prison gates and return with their misplaced family members. L.A. gurgles in response; neither knowing nor caring what his actual words are as she latches on to his index finger, but the words hadn't been meant for a newborn. The baby was just easier to talk to than Carol.

Part of him wishes that she were strong enough to talk to because he had so much in his head at the moment that it was going to explode, but he drives that weakness down deep and focuses on rocking L.A. back to sleep as his anger and shock meld into determination.

He returns the baby to the makeshift cradle that they had had in the room awaiting the baby's birth and he scoots past the kneeling Beth with only a flickering glance toward Carol.

He makes no promises that he'll be back. He allows himself a moment to consider that he may not return. He hopes, if he dies, that his having found her makes her think of him as the hero that he had tried to be for her when Sophia went missing; the hero that he had actually felt like when he lifted Carol into his arms to get her to safety.

His forces his thoughts to getting Andrea, Glenn and Maggie back then beating the snot out of his big brother for all this shit before making sure Merle came back to join _this _group.

~*~ End~*~


End file.
